


Guys Like You

by clgfanfic



Category: Lethal Weapon (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-31
Updated: 2012-10-31
Packaged: 2017-11-17 10:04:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/550397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The partners at the end of the second movie</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guys Like You

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Walkabout and later in Black Ops #5 under the pen name Lynn Gill.

           The two detectives laughed, Riggs to keep from moaning, and Murtaugh to hold his tears in place.  They blurred his vision, but unshed, they could not spoil the optimistic expression frozen on his face.

          The older man sucked in a deep breath and held it for a moment to calm himself.  It all happened so fast.  Finding the _Alva Varden_ , the money, the fear that escalated with each exchange of gunfire ringing through the ship's metal passages, the sound cold and hollow.  He couldn't forget the way Riggs' body had snapped as Arjen Rudd shot him, or the way the detective had crumbled to the deck of the ship's hold like an abandoned kite.

          And now, the younger man's strength rapidly spilled out as they sat, waiting for help to arrive.  The earlier jokes, exchanged to quell the rising fear, were replaced by a expectant silence.

          Martin shifted his legs, trying to relieve the pain in his chest.  This was not good.  _Damn, damn, damn.  I should've known better_ , Riggs thought.  Murtaugh continued to hold him in a half-seated position, his presence reassuring and comforting.

          _Not a bad way to go_ , Riggs concluded.  _I'm sorry, Roger.  I had a feeling it could go like this, but I just didn't care.  Shit.  I keep fuckin' up_.

          In the distance a siren wailed.  Help was on the way.

          "Rog?" the younger man rasped out, blood darkening his lips.

          "Yeah?" Murtaugh replied, staring down into his partner's pale blue eyes, narrowed with pain.  "Hang in there, kid.  Help's on the way.  Like I said, you ain't dead until I tell you.  Don't you forget it."

          Riggs strained to speak, but the burning in his lungs caught the words, trapping them in his throat.  Frustrated, he let the feelings tumble out through his expression.

          Murtaugh smiled thinly and Riggs' guessed his expression must be the same as the one Roger had given him when they sat in his bomb-wired bathroom.  _How long ago was that?_ he wondered.  _A lifetime_.

          "Ra…?" Riggs slurred.

          "I'm right here, partner.  All the way.  You hear me?  All the way."

          Riggs' lips twitched into a small smile.

          The first jarring clangs echoed in the growing dawn light and the two detectives watched as two paramedics descended into the cargo hold.  Feeling Roger's hand slide into his own, Riggs closed his eyes and allowed his thoughts to jump into the beckoning soft blackness crowding in on him.

          "Over here.  Come on, hurry up," the older detective said.

          The two men trotted over, slowing to avoid slipping in the blood as they neared the pair.

          "Okay, if you could move back now, we'll—"

          "No.  Now, go on – get to it."

          "Excuse me, sir, but we'll handle it from here."

          "Look," the detective snapped.  "I'm staying, and I ain't in a mood to discuss it.  Get movin' or I'll take my gun out and shoot you."

          The two medics exchanged worried glances, but they began working on the injured man.  Riggs' condition silenced any further arguments about Roger's presence and they moved swiftly and efficiently around him.

          Over the next several minutes, uniformed officers, crime lab technicians, detectives, the coroner, and two ambulance attendants joined them, filling the hold with disorientating, broken noises that bounced from one metal wall to another.  Roger closed his eyes and willed his growing claustrophobia to go away.

          Several people tried to talk the older detective away from his partner, but Roger refused to abandon the younger man.  A stubborn intractability finally settled across his features, halting any further efforts.

          One of the paramedics moved away to speak to the attendants.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Moving Martin from the hold to the waiting dock-side ambulance proceeded smoothly despite the firm grip Roger maintained on his partner's hand.

          _Come on, Riggs_ , Murtaugh encouraged silently.  _Hang in there.  Trish and the kids will kill me if I let anything happen to you.  You know that_.  _Besides, we can't let that asshole win, Marty.  He ain't worth your life.  You got to fight, kid.  I'm too old to break in another partner_.

          Settling into the back of the ambulance Roger carefully watched the short rise and fall of Riggs' chest.  The oxygen that flowed from the mask they had settled over his mouth eased the labored wheezing, but did little to relax the taut expression stretched across Martin's face.  The pale blue eyes fluttered open as the accompanying paramedic started a second IV.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Martin gripped the warm hand ensconced in his tighter when he was unable to locate Roger immediately through the confused blur of pain and administered drugs.  He shifted nervously on the gurney.

          Murtaugh reached out and rested a reassuring hand on his shoulder.  "I'm right here, Marty."

          Riggs turned his head to find the black man.  The oxygen mask made it impossible for Roger to decide if Riggs was smiling slightly or grimacing beneath it.

          "We're almost there," he said.  "Hey, it's just like you told me in the bathroom, man.  Remember?  Guys like us, like you, don't go out this easily. You hear me?  We're gonna make it.  It ain't time yet."

          Riggs blinked, sending two tears rolling over his temples.

          "I'll be here," Roger promised.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The captain and departmental psychiatrist met them when they arrived at the hospital.  The confrontation was brief and heated.  The nurses and ER physician ignored the feuding threesome as they rapidly prepped Riggs for surgery.

          The captain, threatening Roger Murtaugh with everything from suspension to directing traffic for the rest of his career – all to no avail – stalked out of the treatment room, content to leave the problem for the hospital staff.

          _Hell, I might even do the same_ , he admitted to himself as the door sighed shut behind him.  _Damn good cops.  Hope he pulls through.  The bastard's too stubborn to die_.

          The psychiatrist started in on him next, but Roger made it graphically clear that he wasn't interested in listening to any of her speeches.

          A short, teddy-bear looking man dressed in scrub greens interrupted the commotion, ejecting the psychiatrist with the command, "Go – now," and an accompanying poke of his finger, indicating the way out.

          As soon as she had left, Roger looked at the man, saying in his own defense, "I don't think I can explain this, but I know if I let go, he'll die.  I know that.  I'm his link to the living, Doctor."

          The man ran his hand over the short gray-brown curls scattered thinly across his head.  "Sergeant Murtaugh, if you don't let go, I can promise you, you will kill him.  I need to take him into surgery, immediately, and I can't take you."  He reached out, covering Roger's and Riggs' hands with his own. "Please, give him to me.  Let me save his life."

          Murtaugh wavered for a moment, but the truth of the man's words was too clear.  He pulled his hand free, watching as the doctor's hand immediately took its place.

          "Thank you," the man said, nodding to the orderlies to push the gunnery.

          "Yeah," Roger whispered, the adrenaline rush finally fading and taking his strength along with it.  He felt his knees give slightly and he swayed on his feet.  Two nurses stepped up and guided him to a treatment table where another doctor began to check him over.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Someone was calling his name.  Roger could hear it.  Calling… someone, calling?  Riggs?

          "Marty?"

          "Mr. Murtaugh?" a young, blond nurse said.  "Your wife's here.  Would you like to go out to the waiting room, or should I show her in?"

          "Uh," he stalled, trying to let the jumbled pieces of his consciousness fall into some sort of whole.  He was at the hospital.  He was fine.  Riggs was in surgery.  "Uh, I'll, I'll go out.  Officer Riggs, is he out of surgery?"

          "Not yet.  It's only been two hours.  Here, let me help you."  She took his arm and helped him stand, releasing him once she was sure he had his balance.

          Roger rubbed his hand across his face, wishing the sensation of the world rushing past him in fast forward would stop.  _Okay, Martin's still in surgery.  Trish is here.      I'm fine.  A cup of coffee and I'll be fine_. 

          "Okay, I'm all right," he told her.

          The nurse held the door open and Roger stepped out into the over-bright hallway.  Trish's arms immediately folded around him.

          "Oh, Rog, are you all right?"

          "I'm fine, baby.  No holes."

          She looked up at him, tears slipping over her eyelashes and running down her dark cheeks.  "Martin?"

          Roger shook his head, afraid to guess.

          "Oh, God," she breathed.  "Here, let's sit down.  You look awful."

          "Thanks," he whispered, letting her lead him over to the faded plaid couch.  A volunteer arrived with a tray filled with coffee thermos, sugar, cream and two cups.

          "Hi," the young woman said.  "The nurse said you could probably use this."

          "Thank you," Trish said, quickly wiping her tears away.

          Roger just nodded his thanks, reaching for the coffee.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Two more hours passed before the doctor finally joined them.

          "Don't worry, I made sure someone was with him," he said first, noticing the anxious expression on Roger's face.  "But I wanted a chance to talk to you before you see him."

          "How is he?" Trish asked, her hands tightening on Roger's leg.

          "Good, all things considered.  Why don't we walk down to recovery while I explain what we're facing."

          Roger nodded and pushed to his feet.

          "Good, follow me."  The physician turned and started down the hall.

          Trish and Roger left their cups behind and followed. 

          "It wasn't as bad as I first thought," he said as they walked.  "One lung was partially collapsed, but we've taken care of that.  One of the bullets followed right along his rib, and just nicked the lung.  The stab wound in the thigh missed the artery; nothing serious there.  The second bullet did a little damage to his stomach, but not what we were afraid of – no damage to the pyloric sphincter.  Sergeant Riggs will have to avoid heavy or spicy meals for a while, but that should take care of itself in a few months.  Rather like a mild ulcer, actually."

          Trish sighed with relief.  "He's going to be all right then, isn't he, Doctor?"

          "It's the third wound we're the most worried about," he continued, watching both their expressions grow more panicked.  "Now, as I said before, he's doing very well.  None of the wounds were individually life threatening, considering how quickly he got to us.  However, the third is a lower abdominal wound.  We've repaired the tears in his intestine, but with any wound that involves a breach of the peritoneum we want to be extremely careful about infections."

          They paused outside two large swinging doors.  "There's some residual damage from the fight, primarily a mild concussion.  Normally I wouldn't worry too much about that, but with the complications the rest of the situation created, we'll have to keep a closer eye on him.  I'd rather he not slip into a coma if we can help it.  That's one reason why I'm going to break a few hospital regulations and allow you go in and sit with him in recovery.

          "Despite what most of my colleagues would say, I believe people are often the best medicine for people.  So, talk to him, reassure him, hold his hand, tell him stories, whatever.  It can't hurt and it might help."

          "Thank you, Doctor," Roger said sincerely.

          "Someone will come to move him to ICU in a couple of hours."

          "I'll go talk to the kids," Trish said.  "They were worried sick.  I'll be back this afternoon, okay?"

          Roger nodded.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The doctor watched her kiss her husband, then head off down the hall, wiping her eyes.  "I think he'll wake up sometime in the next few hours.  Once he does, you're out of here, Sergeant.  Get some sleep and come back in twenty-four hours.  Otherwise we'll be scraping you off the floor and giving you a room of your own."

          Roger nodded, allowing himself to grin.  "You've got yourself a deal."

          He followed the physician as he pushed past the double doors.  The diffuse light from the overhead lamps reminded the detective of something out of a horror movie.  He shivered.  The doctor pushed open another door.

          Murtaugh stopped, staring at his partner in the room beyond, cocooned in bandages, tubes and wires.  Various pieces of equipment beat out a discordant symphony of whirs, beeps and rasps that drowned out the pounding of his heart in the older man's ears.

          "You all right?" he heard the doctor ask.

          "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine.  It just looks. . ."  He shook his head, unable to find the words.

          "I know, it's like something out of a bad horror movie, right?  Don't worry.  It might look a little alien, but those machines are helping him."

          Roger nodded, then slowly walked up to the side of the bed, finally noticing the young nurse seated on the far side of the bed, holding Riggs' hand.  "It's just a little overwhelming, that's all."

          "He's doing much better than I expected, so don't worry too much.  You see, you haven't let go.  Someone's been with him the whole way."

          "Thank you, Doctor."

          "Like I said.  I might be a doctor, but I'll admit that there's too much I still don't understand about the healing process.  I believed you."  He turned to the nurse.  "Cathy, why don't you let detective Murtaugh sit down."

          She nodded and stood. 

          Roger walked around the narrow bed and took her seat.  Reaching out, he wrapped his fingers around his partner's limp, slightly clammy hand.  Earlier, Riggs' grip, although weak, was reassuring, but now the frightening lack of response brought goose bumps up across Murtaugh's skin.  The exhaustion welled up again and he thought he heard the doctor telling him to go ahead and sleep.  Leaning forward, he rested his forehead on his arm, squeezed Martin's hand once for reassurance, and closed his eyes.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Roger came awake with a start.

          "Sergeant Murtaugh?  We need to take your partner to ICU now," the nurse who had been sitting with Riggs when he'd first arrived told him.

          "Uh, sure," Roger said, climbing to his feet.  His clothes clung to him, damp with sweat.  "How's he doing?"

          "The doctor will come in once we get him settled and take a look.  You'll need to talk to him, but it looks good so far."

          Murtaugh nodded.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "His vital signs are improving and he's not showing any early signs of infection," the doctor said quietly as he worked over Riggs, occasionally pausing to write in the file he held.  "Everything looks fine… EEG shows no indication of coma… he's just sleeping."  He closed the file and slid it into the rack at the foot of the bed. "We couldn't ask for more, Sergeant.  He should wake up by this afternoon.  How're you doing?"

          "Tired," Roger admitted.

          "Sleep as much as you can.  He's not going anywhere.  Ring for the nurse if you want some lunch or coffee."

          The detective chuckled.  "Think I'll take you up on the coffee.  How long will he be in here if everything goes okay?"

          "Oh, I'd say at least three weeks.  With luck we'll get him out of here before Christmas."

          "Good, good," Roger said.  "It wouldn't be Christmas around our place without him.  Sort of a habit we've developed, you know?"

          The doctor nodded.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Trish tiptoed into the room and smiled.  Roger sat next to the hospital bed, his hand still in Martin's, and his other arm pillowing his head while he slept.  Martin lay amid the various wires and tubes, watching his sleeping partner.  He smiled up at Trish.

          "Hi," she whispered.

          "Hi," Riggs whispered back.  "You gonna take this guy home?"

          She nodded.

          "Good.  He snores.  Wake the dead.  Don't know how you do it."

          "You get used to it," she said through a growing smile.  "And if that doesn't work, a good kick in the behind does."

          Riggs laughed lightly, drawing a cough up his throat.

          "Careful," Trish whispered.

          Riggs nodded.  "Sorry, Trish."

          "Sorry about what?"

          "Damn near got us both killed."

          "Martin, it wasn't your fault."

          "Yes it was.  I lost it.  I—"

          "Shh, don't worry about it now.  You just set your mind to getting better.  The kids wanted me to tell you, you'd better be out of here by Christmas, or they'll come up with a – and I'm quoting, Detective – 'suitable punishment.'"

          Riggs smiled.  "I'll try."

          Lifting his free hand, Riggs weakly thunked the top of Murtaugh's head with a flicked fingertip.

          "Uh?" the older detective said groggily.  He sat up slowly, looking around the room.  "Trish?"

          She stepped up and kissed his forehead.  "Time to go home, Roger."

          "It's that late?"

          "Sure is."

          "How long you been here?"

          "Just a few minutes.  Martin and I have been talking while we waited for you to wake up."

          Roger's head snapped around so he could look at his partner.

          Riggs smiled at him smugly.  "Mornin', Rog."

          "Mornin' my foot," he grinned.  "How you doin'?"

          "Think I'm gonna make it."

          Roger nodded.  "You better.  I already bought your Christmas present."

          Riggs coughed, his hand tightening on Roger's.  "Thanks, man," he said when the waves of pain passed.  "You should've gone home, man.  You look awful."

          "So everyone keeps telling me."  He stood, but he maintained his hold on the younger man's hand.  "Besides, what are partners for, huh?  You sure you're goin' to be okay?"

          "Yeah.  Now, go home, so I can get some sleep.  Your snorin' keeps me up."

          "Snoring?  I don't snore, Riggs.  You must be hearing things.  Better tell the doctor about that.  Maybe that concussion's worse than he thought."

          "Buzz-saw, Rog.  Pure buzz-saw."

          "Yeah, well, you ain't no sleepin' beauty either, ya know?"

          "Go on, will ya?"

          Roger let go.  "I'll see you tomorrow, Riggs."

          "'Kay."

          Riggs' eyes slid closed and he slipped back to sleep.

          "Sleep well, partner," Roger whispered, reaching out to pull the light blanket up…

 The End


End file.
